Drabble Collection 01
by ChuChuMarshmallow
Summary: Their relationship was confusing; a rollercoaster with ups and downs and twists and turns that neither of them understood. But it was the rush of the ride that kept them on it, because even in this early stage, they both understood that it was, without a doubt, love. Rated T for language.


**[I. Tired]**

His eyelids were heavy, but he kept at it, tapping buttons on his handheld game as he sprawled himself out across the couch. It was late, later than he normally stayed up, but he was committed to waiting, even if he had to beat this game all in one sitting. Hours passed and he was pressing buttons and controls in an automatic fashion when the door suddenly clicked.

He looked to the clock and almost felt irritated that the bastard dared to come home now, when it was this late, but regardless, Misaki sat up on the couch and directed his gaze towards the front entrance.

"Welcome home, stupid Saruhiko."

**[II. Back Alley]**

Fuck, this wasn't good. Run, run, run. Ignoring the burning pain in his ankle, he limped into an alley and pinned himself against a wall behind a dumpster, hugging his skateboard close to him. It was gross and he hated it, but Yata's come to learn how to retreat when he was at it his limit. He stilled his breathing as he heard a rush of footsteps and yells, no doubt the group of men that he had fought with. He could hear one coming closer, towards his ill-placed hiding spot. Fist clenching, he prepared himself to finish what he started, even if it'd leave him with less wounds than the other guy.

"What are you doing?"

That familiar voice made him jump, his attention switching immediately to its owner. It undoubtedly got the attention of the other guy, whose adrenaline was still pumping from the fight. Not noticing that Yata was there, he must've figured the question was directed towards him and charged towards the blue asker. If he had taken a moment to realize exactly where that uniform belonged, he probably would've changed his decision, but it was too late.

Fushimi didn't even have to release his sword to handle the idiot, sidestepping the terribly obvious attack and elbowing him in the back of the neck. His body dropped to the ground with a groan, and Fushimi's attention turned back to where it started.

"Misaki, don't tell me you've become totally helpless without your-"

"Shut up!" Yata growled, cutting him off and using his skateboard to help him stand without putting so much pressure on his ankle. "I don't need to hear shit from you, and I don't need your fucking help."

Fushimi didn't respond and that alone unnerved him. When was the bastard ever quiet? Yata chanced a glance up at the younger boy, not sure how to react on the look that he saw on the other boy's face. He would call it similar to pity, if he believed that Fushimi was capable of something like that. The look disgusted him the longer he thought about it, so with a huff, he turned to leave.

"Misaki."

Yata didn't stop because he was called. He definitely didn't. He stopped because he had to shift the way he was walking, because the throbbing in his ankle was starting to get unbearable to push through.

"What are you doing to yourself, Misaki?"

His immediate reaction was to snap back angrily, but as he opened his mouth, he paused. What was he doing, now? It felt as though he had digressed to back when the two of them were in school, except now, he was fighting by himself and not with his best friend at his side. A click of a tongue behind him distracted him from his thoughts, but he remained silent. Fushimi brushed past him, taking a glance down at Yata's ankle, and then kept walking. Standing in a stunned silence, Yata couldn't believe that there was nothing more than that. He was used to taunting words and jabs intended to cause a fight, but Fushimi did none of those things. Almost being tempted to start riling the blue clansman up, he was cut off prematurely by a voice masked with irritation.

"I'm heading home. Feel free to follow me."

Yata blinked, confusion washing over him as Fushimi resumed his walking. Feeling nothing but frustration, and muttering a slew of "damn"'s and "fuckin' Saru"'s, he found himself walking after him.

**[III. Cheat]**

"Ahhh, c'mon!" Yata almost threw the controller in frustration before unconsciously remembering it's hefty pricetag, and instead gently tossed it onto the cushion beside him. "Why do you always win?"

Fushimi's lips twitched upwards in amusement as he sipped on the soda that, for the most part, they'd been sharing. "Because I'm better than you, Misaki. Isn't that much obvious?"

Yata sputtered a string of words that didn't make any sense before pointing an accusing finger at his best friend and challenging, "I bet you're cheating! It's like you know some glitch or something with that character!"

"But I've been using different-"

"I'll choose who you play with! Then we'll see who wins, once you lose your advantage!"

Fushimi sighed, but it was with a smile. "Fine, it's your choice." And as Yata flipped through the character selection, thinking hard about who to pick for him to play, Fushimi silently wished that these days would never end.

**[IV. Love]**

Their relationship could be loud, full of arguments and fights, slammed doors and cold shoulders. Those times were the ones that confused them both - was this how things were supposed to be? Was this how relationships worked? The tension left behind each time was suffocating, and though Fushimi never seemed to be bothered by it, it felt like nothing less than a wall slowly pushing down against Yata each second they spent in that fog. They were both young, new to this, too stubborn and prideful to work things through.

On some days though, their relationship could be quiet, warm, comforting. It was in times when the temperature outside dropped and they'd sit together on the couch, sharing a blanket and watching movies or playing a game. Times when either of them would have a rough day at work, whether it'd be Fushimi's tiredly nuzzling Yata's neck or Yata's exaggerated flop over Fushimi's lap. It was the peaceful moments before sleep, where they murmured goodnights and debated silently if they should say anything more.

Their relationship was confusing; a rollercoaster with ups and downs and twists and turns that neither of them understood. But it was the rush of the ride that kept them on it, because even in this early stage, they both understood that it was, without a doubt, love.

**[V. Kitchen]**

It was a pleasure, Fushimi thought, to wake up in the morning to see an apron-clad Misaki hovering over a stove. Often he'd find that it was a nice incentive to wake up early, quietly leaning in the doorway just to watch the show. It was only on rare occasions that Misaki didn't turn around and try to punch him, but it only served to amuse Fushimi even more. To make things even all the more better, Yata was a great cook, even if his way of going about it was...

"Tch. You're putting vegetables in it again?"

An unintentional smirk formed on his lips when the smaller form tensed at the sound of his voice.

"Saru..." The all familiar low tone of Yata's voice sent chills down his spine, but he didn't have time to revel in the in that sweet embarrassment, having to duck lest he be hit in the face with a drying towel.

"I told you to shut up about my cooking!" Fushimi considered that lovely pink hue across Misaki's cheeks to be one of Misaki's best looks. With a huge smile on his face, he took his seat at the table, leaning his head on his palms as Misaki continued his stuttering rant.


End file.
